


Vertical Expression

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dancing, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-07
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-15 19:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot signs them up for Scottish step dance classes at the societies fair. Arthur isn't pleased. But something (or should that be someone?) happens that makes him change his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vertical Expression

Out of all the societies they could have joined, Lance went for the _Scottish dance society_. He'd signed himself and Arthur up for Highland dance, Scottish country dance and Scottish step dance. Highland Dancing had been the most embarrassing thing Arthur had ever been exposed to, and that was saying something after living with Morgana for so many years. How any man would ever submit himself to that sort of bouncing wearing a kilt _and no underwear_ was more than he cared to think about. Lance had been a natural, skipping and jumping like a bloody pro. 

The country dancing was only marginally better. One would think that sort of dancing would not be completely alien to Arthur, after having viewed Pride and Prejudice about five billion times (with Morgana), but he was still utterly lost. It had felt like spending two hours in a tumble dryer, with lots of girls pushing and pulling him in different directions. Again, Lance had excelled. Apparently, his Provençal DNA contained specific sequences for folk dancing.

They were at the step dance now, and Lance was making cow eyes at the instructor, a girl by the name of Gwen. She had been at the other courses, too. Arthur had his suspicions that her presence at the fresher's fair was the real reason behind Lance's sudden interest in folk dance.

They were five minutes into learning how to shuffle (heel _kick_ , toe _back_ ) when the doors opened and a man bolted in. Arthur watched the latecomer in the mirror. Tallish. Pale and dark-haired in a particularly Celtic fashion. As he put his rucksack down, he fell over his own feet and ended up sprawled on the floor.

There was a sudden silence, before a nervous giggle spread through the room. Arthur laughed out loud, inexplicably happy at someone else making a fool of himself.

Gwen stopped, went to help the poor idiot up.

"This is Merlin," she said, as she brushed some invisible dust from his trousered, but still obviously knobbly, knees. "He's going to be helping me out. As you can see, Merlin is quite the god on the dance floor."

They all laughed at that, Arthur most of all.

Merlin merely smiled; a silly, beautiful smile. He toed off his trainers, got his dancing shoes on, motioned to Gwen for music.

He started slowly, as if he was just warming up, trying out his long, spindly legs. His body was supple, with none of that Riverdance stiffness. Arms loose, moving a little; face changing from apologetic into something wilder, something _happy_. His legs moved as if on their own accord. As if they were always meant to dance, and walking was what caused him troubles.

Shuffling, kicking, jumping, doing that funny ankle-breaking rocking move, as if his ankles were made of rubber.

When the music became more insistent, Merlin picked up speed, too. His movements transformed, became less lazy and self-indulgent, and more forceful. The tap of his shoes on the wooden floor beat out a rhythm that counterpointed the music. Quicker and quicker. He kept smiling, as if it was all fun, somehow. Moving sideways, then back and forth. Keeping shuffling as he turned. His feet appeared to be doing things which felt far too advanced for someone so seemingly clumsy.

When Gwen laughed out loud, Merlin laughed, too, still dancing. And then Gwen put her hands on her hips, all sassy, as if she was egging him on. Merlin stared back at her, his smile going almost naughty as he raised his eyebrows a little. _Challenge accepted_. He made his steps more complex, frowning a little in concentration as his feet moved too fast for Arthur to follow. He felt his own heartbeat speed up as the tapping grew quick, quick. It was hypnotising, as if Merlin was painting invisible patterns of the floor with his steps. 

As the music ended, he stepped down on his heel, the sharp _tap_ of it on the wooden floorboards prefacing absolute silence. Eventually, people started applauding.

Merlin laughed, bowed and blushed. And managed to almost fall over again. When he wasn't the mysterious Svengali of step dancing, he was not all that dissimilar to Bambi on ice.

*

Arthur didn't miss a class, after that.

*

After the last class before Christmas, most people went with Gwen to the pub. Arthur declined. Merlin wasn't going, either. He was taking his time removing his dance shoes and putting them into his rucksack. Arthur lagged behind. Stretching his legs. Fiddling around with his mobile. Looking for something in his pocket. Surreptitiously watching Merlin's long legs and positively tiny arse as he bent down to pick his things up. 

The voices of the others disappeared down the stairs. Looking out the window, Arthur could see them making their way to the pub, a jolly little brigade, headed by Gwen and Lance. It had began to snow; big, fluffy flakes in the yellow lamp-light.

"You're not going?"

Arthur turned round.

"Didn't really feel like it. And you?"

"Too tired." Merlin was putting his brown anorak on. "Are you enjoying the step dance?"

"It's nice. Not what I expected."

"I love it." Merlin's face came alive with an eager smile, making Arthur smile, too.

"How long have you been dancing?" Arthur asked.

Merlin shrugged. "Don't know. Mum says I was – "

" _A dancer before you could walk_?" Arthur filled in, making Merlin laugh.

"Yeah, my life quotes ABBA. Could I be any gayer?"

Arthur barked out a short, nervous laugh. There was something endearing about Merlin, almost irritatingly so. It was impossible to know whether he was flirting or just babbling. "You're not Scottish, though?" Arthur said, just to have something to say.

"Welsh. I came here out of Celtic solidarity."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"You're English." Merlin said. It wasn't even a question.

Arthur nodded.

"You're quite stiff."

Arthur frowned and laughed at the same time. "What's that supposed to mean?" Trust his brain to provide him with a smutty interpretation of _that_.

Merlin tapped his toe on the floor. It didn't sound right, not with his trainers on. "I don't know. I just look at you, and you seem like someone who can't let go. Step dancing is about letting go. About letting your feet be happy. Dance your misery away." He was pulling off his anorak again, tousling his hair in the process.

"My feet are quite happy," Arthur replied, self-conscious. "And I'm not miserable, thank you very much."

"We could dance now," Merlin said, already starting to choose some music. "There we are," he added, as some weird, electronic stuff started to fill the room. As Arthur stared at Merlin, a bagpipe started playing, followed by drums.

"Come," Merlin said. "I'll teach you to spin." He held out his hand, refused to back down even as Arthur stayed put. In the end, Arthur took the offered hand, still baffled. It was a bony hand, with long, strong fingers.

"Hold my elbow, like this." Merlin grabbed him, and they were together, _solid_. Like the links of a chain.

*

They spun until they fell to the floor, laughing like madmen. And then Merlin was on him. Lips on lips, sharp hips digging into Arthur's abdomen. At that point, Arthur's very world started spinning.

*

He walked Merlin home, much later. It was still snowing. Merlin led him on an exaggeratedly labyrinthine path; through narrow, poorly lit wynds and steep stairs. When he almost fell, on an uneven step hidden by snow, Arthur grabbed his arm, linking it safely into his own. Merlin sagged into him, his fluffy scarf touching Arthur's cheek. Merlin didn't make a bid for freedom. He kept his arm in Arthur's until they stopped outside a red door leading into one of the drab tenements that this part of town was full of. 

"This is it," Merlin said. "This is where I live." He picked up his keys from his pocket, held them in his hand without even attempting to unlock the door.

Arthur nodded. "So," he said, not really having anything to say. Just not wanting to leave yet. "I suppose I should be on my way." His gentlemanly persona clicked into place, and he said it courteously, despite very much wanting to stay.

"Are you cold?" Merlin exclaimed. "I don't want you to be cold..."

They were silent for a while. Far too long. Arthur couldn't stand it.

"Well. Good night then."

He managed three steps before his arm was grabbed and he stopped, turned round. 

"Arthur," Merlin said. "Do you know what they say about dance?"

Arthur shook his head.

A snowflake landed on Merlin's eyelashes, and he blinked it away.

"That it's a vertical expression of a horizontal desire." His cheeks blushed red, and not just from the cold.

Arthur let his glance fall from Merlin's eyes, to Merlin's hand. It slid down Arthur's arm, found Arthur's hand. It was a slow movement, as if he needed all of his courage to make it.

They both made a noise at that. Arthur thought he exhaled, while Merlin inhaled. Surprised. Excited. Embarrassed. Who knew?

*

Arthur shared Merlin's narrow bed that night, falling asleep only as the first commuters started to deface the pristine blanket of white covering the city.


End file.
